


The Griffin and the Dragon

by motoroilfreeway



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Griffins, M/M, Reincarnation, dragon hunter!US, dragon!UK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: In the end, it seems like he won't be getting what he had always wanted once again.





	1. ...

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by Frank R. Stockton's The Griffin and the Minor Canon, a short story from Neil Gaiman's Unnatural Creatures, Stories selected by Neil Gaiman. You don't need to read the story to get the fic. Just putting it out there.
> 
> and angelique---aph Seychelles

                He spent the last moments of his death lying on his stomach, eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin that has his exact likeness, his thoughts fixated on the minor canon that was the only good thing he had found in that miserable town, aside from the great statue that he had taken with him upon his final depart.

The autumnal equinox has long gone past and he had refused to eat anything, thinking that if he cannot have that man, then he cannot have anything else. He had sent the man back into that horrible town with the looming threat to the selfish cowards in there that if they did not treat the minor canon with reverence and honour, he shall return and exact his terrible vengeance.

An image of the minor canon smiling politely at him, the great---and the last of his kind---griffin dies.

                Arthur opens his eyes and finds himself sighing, smoke hissing out of his snout when he snorts to himself.

Always the same dream and for some reason, he’s a _griffin_ , of all things.

He twists and turns around the corner of his cave, his tail absently pulling his hoard of gold and sapphires closer around himself, protective of his treasures even in the safety of his own domain.

He always had a throbbing feeling in the back of his mind that something will take them away, but he wasn’t sure what or who.


	2. Act I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then what is it? The dragons want, I mean.”
> 
> “Treasures,”

                “A dragon… _hunter?_ As in a person whose occupation is to… _hunt_ dragons?”

Angelique feels her eyeballs roll into the back of her sockets as she spent more of her very busy time to listen to Arthur’s stupid musings. Awfully stupid because the other doesn’t seem to be grasping the idea yet that there are people out there who truly hunts his kind for a living.

To the human eye, dragons are monsters that breathe fire and steal their gold. Of course they’ll hire people to get rid of them.

It’s how the griffins went extinct years ago, didn’t it?

Unable to tolerate the dragon’s stupidity any further, Angelique slams a cold glass of beer on Arthur’s table, shocking her regular patron out of their musings and looking up at her in attention---at last.

“Oh, please! It’s not like they’re new or anything. They’ve been around for a while.” She says over the loudness of the busy tavern, barmaids and patrons bustling about, singing merry songs and getting into friendly arm wrestlings and gamblings.

At the sight of Arthur’s brows furrowing up at her in a way that expresses his complete doubt on the matter, she adds, “You’re just spending too much time cooped up in your den to notice,” She gives him a coy smile, turning her back to return to the counter for more orders to serve before she gets to see one of Arthur’s dirty looks to be thrown at her.

This isn’t the first time she had teased the dragon about his age; supposed to be ancient but apparently not that old to hear of the griffins before they became truly extinct and so was sceptical on whether or not they were real or mythical in existence.

He was old, nonetheless and he hates it when it’s pointed out.

She slightly turns her head towards his direction and is not disappointed at all to see those eyes turned towards her in distaste, large brows creased down into a frown that intensifies his glare as he takes a lengthy gulp into his glass.

Throughout the years she had served the man, she had never found that look anything but endearing. And so she finds herself trying to vex the man at every chance she’s got.

Once the crowd has died down and the tavern finds itself back in its usual slow pace, people quieting down and the drunks passive with their heads on the tables, soft snores leaving their mouths in each breath, Angelique finds herself sitting at Arthur’s table, a plate of steak on her hand to eat for a very late dinner.

Angelique knows Arthur had tons of refills by now, spent the entire night sipping quietly from his glass and smiling in it every now and then as he watches people laugh and sing and drink and sometimes beat each other bloody. He enjoys watching humans live their lives, he once told her. Another reason why he kept on finding himself here every night.

“So, got something about my griffins, _professor_?” She teasingly inquires. Calls him a professor with how the dragon likes to talk all big and scholarly, using his age to back up why he’s so wise and smart.

So far, it made Angelique conclude that age doesn’t always equate wisdom. She feels a smile cracking from her face as she takes a bite of her steak.

Arthur doesn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in her tone however and instead straightens his cravat and clears his throat for an upcoming speech on how griffins are purely mythical along with some backing of some sort. Be it scientific or lore, Angelique finds them amusing, so she lets the dragon be.

“Oh, yeah, actually, they have a large head and was described to have an enormous mouth and savage teeth; from its back arose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout legs in front with projecting---“

Angelique and Arthur find themselves gobsmacked as another person find themselves seated at Arthur’s small table, supposed to be fit only for two and thus started to get rather crowded, especially with the newcomer’s large luggage settled on his side and a big plate of meat and a pint of his own drink slammed onto the table’s surface upon his arrival, his speech quick and elaborate as he joins in uninvited to their little talk about griffins.

Angelique gives the stranger a subtle glance, who doesn’t seem keen to stop anytime soon from his endless rambles on the topic at hand. She looks back at Arthur and watches in amusement how the stranger had the dragon with his mouth open, tongue sticking out to speak before he slams his mouth shut and his face contorts into a horrible scowl at being interrupted.

When the stranger’s eyes finally turned from his meal towards Arthur’s, he finally gets the signal to close his mouth. “---at the end with a…barbed…joint.”

The stranger swallows and takes a sip of his drink then turns to Angelique in inquiry, a thumb pointed towards Arthur’s direction. “Hey, is your friend alright?”

He must be whispering with his hand cupped to her ears, but the volume of his voice says otherwise. Arthur’s frown becoming severe by the minute.

“If you would not stop pointing your dreaded thumb at me, I will bite that off.”

The reaction was instantaneous, the offending finger immediately removed. The stranger jumps in his seat, hands coming up to a surrender. “Woah, let’s not get---wait, _what_?” He asks, startled. His eyebrows raised. When Angelique notices how those blue eyes glow in something akin to realisation, she immediately jumps between them, “Oh, sorry! He doesn’t mean that, God! My friend’s drunk so please excuse his behaviour.” She says, hopefully to get the stranger to calm down.

Dragons aren’t the type to make threats lightly, after all. That, she had learned from Arthur himself.

“Um, really?” The stanger probes, at which Angelique grabs at his shoulders in mock sympathy and nods. It appears enough to sate the man from asking any further.

Arthur doesn’t seem anywhere close to sated, however.

“ _With projecting claws and no legs behind? Its body running out into a long powerful tail?_ Oh please, they look like a cross between a lion and an eagle and are forged by magic. The only creatures capable to hold such power were the dragons, and that’s a real fact.” Arthur snarls, his arms crossed over his chest with his nose turned up in distaste.

The stranger seemed to find this amusing, as later he guffaws, spilling his food and drink everywhere, his hand pounding on the table as he does so. When his laugh subsides into wheezes and dried tears, he leans towards the table, right at Arthur’s face and asks, with amusement lighting up his face, “And where did you get that? _Children’s story books?_ Because that’s what they just are, you know? Stories. It’s like saying dragons only steal princesses and we all know that’s not what they’re actually into.”

The stranger’s sudden switch to the topic of dragons seemed to have piqued Arthur’s interest, as his eyes lit up and a strange look came over his face. His lips curl slightly into a hint of a smile and he leers at the stranger, challenging. “Then what is it? The dragons want, I mean.”

The way the stranger’s eyes glowed under the dim lights of the tavern as he smiled at Arthur made Angelique feel a strong wave of protectiveness towards the dragon, to shield him from those eyes and protect him from something big and powerful she has yet to name.

“ _Treasures,”_ they both heard the stranger say in a hushed tone, like sharing a secret, his face giddy, almost brimming with excitement as he rests his hand on the table, palm flat against the wooden surface. He adds, “To them, anyway. Dragons are worse hoarders than your grandmas, I tell you that. Some likes hoarding priceless things like books, the older and the prettier the covers, the better while some hoards the things us humans has ever dream of having: golds and emeralds and sapphires and rubies. _The shiny ones_.”

When the stranger takes a glance back at Arthur to take in the other’s expression and sees it unreadable---blank---he shifts in his seat, crouching towards his large bag, pulling the zipper open loud enough for them both to hear. From inside, he picks something big and white, and drops it unceremoniously on the table, not minding the plates and the glasses as they clink and bounce at the weight of the object the stranger dropped.

Angelique finds her brows furrowing, leaning down towards the object to see it better. It was white, like ivory and appeared to be in a bad condition. Heavy scratches marring its once-smooth surface, but shiny, nonetheless. She turned her head back to Arthur, to ask if the other could’ve known what this is, when she finds her tongue stuck to her throat, at the sight of Arthur pale as a sheet. His face stricken with what she could only define as pure, unadulterated fear.

She doesn’t notice that the stranger’s eyes were fixed on Arthur, saw how his eyes widened the moment he dropped the object on the table for the two to see, and with the wicked smile on his face as he watched Arthur’s morph from complete indifference to horror, he enjoyed every minute of it. To see that smug face get wiped off that aristocrat’s face.

He leans back on his chair, lets the front legs hang with the backs left to support it, he rests his feet on the table’s surface, putting his hands behind the back of his head to see their faces better as he begins, “Dragon teeth. Put up one hell of a fight, this one did. Almost got me by the arm,” at which he raises the sleeve of his left arm to show them a badly healed scar from what appears like an acid burn.

“The thing with dragons is they don’t really _breathe_ fire. They _spit_ this molten hot liquid that burns whatever it touches. They would later harden into a hard rock like a diamond. It’s how they shape their dens, you see.”

Dread fills Angelique’s entire being as she listens to the stranger---the _dragon hunter_ \---her eyes shaking in their sockets, wanting to throw Arthur a look that says “Run, run and never look back,” and at the same time not wanting to take her eyes off this dangerous man, afraid to throw him any hints that the very creature he had came for to hunt is right in front of him, bantering with him about mythical creatures and the like.

So suddenly, she feared for her friend’s life. Afraid to spend the following night without seeing a hair of his friend and to have this stranger return with a new souvenir in his bag, talk about the great loot of golds and sapphires from his recent quest.

The hunter took their silence for astonishment, as his smiles became kinder and he brought his chair down to let his feet rest back on the ground. He puts his trophy back to his bag and stands up to leave, strapping his luggage to his back. He throws a gold coin on the table as he does so, but before he truly steps out, half-way towards the exit, he turns his face towards them both, to Arthur’s, most especially.

He beams a big warm smile, eyes bright and warm, not like the way they glowed like molten metal before when he spoke of slaying a beast, he tips his head with a wink, “It’s Alfred Jones, by the way!”


	3. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to go back to the past just so I can beat myself up in hopes that I will stop with posting half-written shit and that will prolly end up in the trash bc let’s be real most people think up like a 100 aus in one day and end up writing none. It happens.

                 Alfred manages to return to the Dragon’s Den---the tavern, not the literal thing---two nights after he had arrived. He was too excited at the prospect of getting another taste of the thrill of the hunt that he barely took a rest on his way to the small town. To be frank, it was quite surprising to find himself up and running already after only two days of sleeping like the dead with a few hours of wakefulness in some intervals to eat and keep himself hygienic.

He was glad yet disappointed to see the same bright-eyed stranger he had seen at the tavern on the first night he had spent in the town. He was currently exiting the pub, the old, wooden door swinging behind him as he goes, his long fine coat gracefully floating behind him.

Alfred barely had time to think, heading straight towards the stranger’s direction and hurriedly grabbing for his arm.

“Wait!” He heard himself say, realising that he’s breathless despite the short distance he had to leap just to reach the other man on time to stop him from fully leaving. The stranger’s arm was firm underneath his touch, warm against his cool palm. It made his heart thud in his chest loud, loud enough for him to hear it through the busy streets.

Then the arm gets ripped from his hold, leaving him suddenly feeling cold and lacking, bringing his senses back to the real world. He blinks a few times, trying to get rid of the strange haze that settled on his eyes and turns to look at the stranger’s face, contorted into a deep scowl.

Alfred wonders if he’ll look just as attractive if he was smiling.

Then he gets a small flash of the memory two nights ago.

Smiling inwardly to himself, feeling his chest grow warm, he thought, _yes. The answer is yes_.

“What?” The stranger suddenly says. The beautiful stranger.

“Beau---!” He was about to exclaim, but managed to stop himself in time. He sees how the stranger tilts his head at him, brows furrowing in a way that shows that the other is no longer irritated at the very least but confused.

Alfred clears his throat, his fist covering his mouth as he does so. Then he tries again. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

The stranger’s head remains tilted and Alfred thinks it wasn’t his imagination when he saw it tilt some more, brows furrowing harder as he squints up at him this time. “ _Pardon?”_

“Remember me? About two nights ago?” When Alfred receives nothing but silence, he pouts, blowing a raspberry. Then he tries again, “Griffins? Dragon hunter?” pointing at himself.

That seemed to refresh the stranger’s memory this time, his eyes widening in recognition and gaining their brightness that Alfred didn’t realise wasn’t there all this time until he was recognised.

He shortly wondered why that is.

The furrow in the stranger’s brows lessens to a degree, his head uprights again. He seemed to be gathering his bearings, absently dusting his clothes---very expensive-looking, mind and Alfred has some thoughts that maybe he’s some wealthy noble visiting from a faraway city---as he continues to give Alfred a blank stare.

“Angelique is already promised. Mage, rich,” giving a look at Alfred from bottom to top, he gives his head a swift bow at him when their eyes meet again, “blond and blue eyes but has more tact that you.” He then crosses his arms, looking away, he adds, more like to himself as he mumbles, “Didn’t like the chap one bit but he treats her well that I can’t say anything about it.” He finished with a pained sigh.

Before the stranger manages to open his mouth to further go off from the topic at hand Alfred interrupts. “Um, what?” He couldn’t help but blurt out, confused. He had no idea what even prompted the other to speak about some random woman. Internally wincing, he hoped he’s not mooning about a love lost.

God, he hopes not.

Alfred’s interruption seemed to have worked, the stranger’s attention back to him, entirely and completely. Those eyes are strangely big.

And bright. Really bright. Alfred wonders if they’re maybe standing by a lamp post. That could probably it.

Then Alfred feels himself slightly back off when he notices the sudden switch in the stranger’s mood. Suddenly  he’s more irritable---more than when Alfred had grabbed his arm out of nowhere or back at the pub when he told him that griffins are real and that his description is off. He rolls his eyes at Alfred, then clicks his tongue and turns away from him, walking towards the busy crowd.

Alfred runs, tries to call him back but by the time he gets to where the stranger was once in, he’s gone. Already into the busy crowd, nowhere to be seen.

“You haven’t told me your name yet!” He screams into the busy street, not mindful of the surprised looks people nearby gave him. When he was met with yet silence again, he sighs, taking this moment as a failure and turns back towards the tavern’s entrance.

Hopefully, as the stranger has mentioned earlier, his companion Angelique would be there.

 

                The Dragon’s Den---the pub, not the literal thing---was the same as Alfred has first stepped foot in---loud and noisy and bustling with people.

He slowly steps inside, like how he did the first time he got in, mindful of the busy barmaids with their trays of drinks and tasty-smelling meals on their hands as they skirt around from one table to another, alternatively serving and taking orders.

It takes him a while to find a vacant spot, slowly settling down his seat as he turns his head around, looking for anything familiar. Like those ribbons.

“Got anything you want tonight?” A figure stands in front of his table. Alfred swiftly turns his attention towards it, about to address the speaker but upon a glance on the barmaid’s features, he stands up, exclaiming, “Ribbons!”

The barmaid---Angelique---tilts her head at him, a brow raised and arms on her hips. She stares at Alfred for a moment before blinking, her eyes on one of the red bows on her hair, eyeing them strangely.

“…yes. These are called _ribbons_. May I help you?”

Alfred blinks, realises what he just said and feels his face warm up from the embarrassment. He rubs at the back of his head before sighing, “Ah, haha, sorry, my bad. Let’s start over.”

He clears his throat. “Uh, I want meat.”

Angelique nods, “Sure. We got the same stuff you had before.”

It made Alfred pause. “Wait, you remember me?” Angelique scoffs, amused.

“It’s kind of hard to not remember a guy who dumps a dragon’s tooth before talking about how he got it, don’t you think?”

Oh, yeah, he did that, didn’t he? Alfred thinks, feeling himself go embarrassed again. He must’ve sounded arrogant, boasting about killing dragons right after he argued with a stranger about how _mythical creatures_ are supposed to look like.

He turns his head down towards the table, sorry. “Oh, I uh, I’m sorry, I guess.”

He winces when he feels Angelique scoff and flip her hair at him in response. “Yeah, right.” She said.

“So I guess I’ll go with what I had last time.” Alfred mumbles. Angelique nods and goes on her way, to relay Alfred’s order.

“And just water!” He adds, at which Angelique waves a hand at, to tell him that she got it.

“So how’s the hunting so far?” She asks after she returns, settling Alfred’s warm meal on his table. It made Alfred salivate at the heavenly smell, white smokes still seeping off the meat. It takes him a while to understand what the other had just said and once he did, he looks up, “Mwha?”

She doesn’t seem to be as amused anymore at Alfred’s incoherent response, rolling her eyes and blowing at her stray bangs in impatience. She had her hand on her hip again, the other resting on the surface of Alfred’s table to support her body as she leans down Alfred’s level.

“You said you’re a hunter, aren’t you? How’s your recent ‘conquest to kill our local dragon’ so far? Haven’t seen you in two days. In fact, no one really did.” She looks at him suspiciously, eyeing him up and down. It made Alfred unconsciously gulp, feeling nervous for no reason. She doesn’t know he had been in the inn, stuck in the bed of his rented room for two days straight, getting back sleep.

Alfred scrunches his brows, hands grabbing for the knife and fork to start picking on his meat, eyes trained on Angelique. The other doesn’t back down and now they’re staring each other down. “Wait, why are you so keen on knowing what I did in the last two days?” Alfred asks in turn, refusing to answer Angelique’s interrogations, growing just as suspicious.

It made Angelique blink, pausing. She peers into Alfred’s eyes, all squints and strange right now, he thinks, and she falters, her voice breaking. It seems like she wasn’t expecting Alfred’s rebuke, which is strange, in Alfred’s perspective.

“Nothing!” She blurts out. “Can’t I just be like anyone else? Looking for anything interesting to make their lives less mudane?” She adds, looking away, hands dusting her apron for imaginary dirt.

Alfred raises an eyebrow, making a swift move with his knife to cut out a bit of the meat and pop it into his mouth. He starts chewing, mouth open and teeth clacking, “What, getting married to a mage not interesting enough for you?”

At Alfred’s words, the barmaid gawks, blubbering. “W-what? Who told you that?”

Alfred smiles, “Your friend.” He says between his chews. They really serve good meat here.

Then he furrows his brows, showing open concern as he stares at the exit, imagining Angelique’s said friend as he left not too long ago. “I think he’s kind of down, doesn’t like your mage. Is he okay?”

When his eyes return to Angelique, he was surprised to see this strange look on her face. Kind of blank, unreadable. He can’t tell what’s on her mind.

She seems lost in her thoughts, with those dull eyes.

Then she blinks again. “Sorry?”

Totally got herself lost in her own head there, Alfred notes. “Your friend, I said. Doesn’t sound too fond of your mage.”

It takes her a while but then her face immediately lights up, hands clapping together as she nods. “Oh, you mean…him.” It makes Alfred frown inwardly with how she seems to refuse to drop a name, purposely keeping the man’s name a secret.

It makes him want to know more about him.

“It’s nothing personal, really. He just hated mages.”

“But why?”

Angelique’s brows quirk up. She rubs at her arm, about to speak, but then she gasps, looks at the counter behind her and they both see someone flagging her down. She’s still not off from work and she’s needed.

“Oops, gotta go. Work.” She says, pointing at the counter, a tray of food waiting to be served.

Somewhat disappointed, all Alfred could do was nod and let her be.

He never saw her again at the end of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dragons in this au is stereotyped as old as balls but they’re inherently forgetful with things they aren’t interested in. In short, they’re self-centered arseholes.  
> Arthur “hates mages in general” because dragons in this au are natural-born magic users and they regard themselves as a higher-level magic users. Basically, he thinks Francis (angelique’s fiancé) is a “fake” magic user lol

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully I'll finish this next week


End file.
